Graveyard Train
by Mrs.Monster
Summary: After seeing her dead mother's face blown apart, something changes inside of Beth. She does something rash, and Daryl is enlisted to save her. With only death and lies behind her, Beth runs and Daryl chases. Season 2 AU.
1. Part One: One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead.**

**Author's Note: Full-length 'Deth' fic. And I expect to be a long one. Season 2 AU, and hopefully different from anything you've read for these two. I expect to keep a weekly update schedule, but you never know. I'll certainly _try _to stick to it. Beth is a _little_ out of character here, but it's an AU story, so give it a try. The title is from the Creedence Clearwater Revival song of the same name, from their 1969 album "Bayou Country". **

**Drop me a line.**

**Graveyard Train**

_-B-_

Up in her bedroom of her family's farmhouse, Beth Greene sat on her comfortable bed, staring at her hands. If anyone happened to stop in and look closely, though, they might notice the glazed, far off look in her eyes and realize that she wasn't seeing her slender, pale hands at all- but a gruesome scene that had played out not an hour before. Beth could still vividly feel the Georgia sun beating down on her, the baked dirt surrounding the white, slightly peeling barn. And the barn itself- for months they'd told her not to go inside. Don't even look. And Beth was a good girl, she listened to her daddy and didn't question him when he gave instructions.

Now, as she sat there, fingers twisting against themselves, she wondered. About what would have happened if she hadn't listened. Maybe even worse about if that man with the strange group hadn't broken the padlock and set loose what her daddy had been hiding.

The dead burst out in a drove, at least twenty of them. Beth barely took notice of decaying neighbors, rotted strangers- a snarling, limping figure draped in a white nightgown had her undivided attention, and then yet another in his bib overalls. Something inside of Beth died in that very moment, and her vision had dimmed but she didn't hit the scorched dirt like her daddy did.

Beth had never truly seen one of them up close. _Walkers, _Rick's group called them. From a distance they just seemed disgusting, but up close like they were indescribable. Beth had been terrified. When one of the men from the group, Daryl she thought his name was, had blown her dead mother's face apart, the fear that had been flooding through Beth had been sucked away. She was left feeling weightless. Not the good kind of weightless- not Jimmy kissing her behind the house, or early birthday mornings, not that kind. But like if someone lifted her off the ground, she'd keep going. She'd just float right away, up into the burning sun. After it was over, after all of the walkers were dead and while Carol was sobbing over her daughter's rotted body, someone had brought Beth back to the house, had led her by the hand to this very room. If asked, Beth couldn't name who'd done it- maybe Maggie, or Jimmy, or even Lori or Andrea. It didn't matter anyway. She was alone now. Maybe not completely alone, but her thoughts really weren't comforting company.

She remembered back when all of this started, when words like _virus _and _pandemic _were being thrown around. Daddy said that people were sick. That the only reason they were dangerous was that they didn't really know what they were doing, those people. A fever had made them delirious, and Beth needed to stay safe. Stay at the farm, and away from anyone who was sick, because she might catch it too. Of course she believed him. Her daddy was a doctor, of sorts- maybe he didn't treat people, but people were just another kind of animal, weren't they? When her momma and brother took sick, though, and daddy took them away- "To see real professionals, Bethy. Get 'em some help."- Beth had felt a small twinge of doubt, and hated herself for it. Her daddy came back alone and held both Beth and Maggie when he told them that neither of them had made it, but not to worry. Their momma and Shawn were with God now, he told them, that they weren't among the sick shuffling around, wasting away to bones.

He'd lied and Beth felt a rush of anger chase away all that numbness. Her daddy had looked into her eyes, and lied, had kept up the lie for months. And why? Because she was still considered a child? Because she was too fragile, too naive? Neither Maggie or Jimmy had seemed particularly surprised over what came stumbling out of that barn, or over her daddy being so protective of it. Beth wondered if Patrica knew the truth as well, maybe even Otis before he'd died.

Hands stopped their twisting and clenched into small fists. Beth felt like an idiot. Everyone but her had known the truth. That those people weren't just _sick_. They were _dead_. Shane had proved that to her, shooting that woman her daddy had restrained in the heart, in the lungs. And her momma and brother had been among them, right under her nose, this entire time. All of them- daddy, Maggie, every one- had let them rot and fester and hadn't done a thing to help them, not really. What happened to mercy? That would have been putting them down, like she'd seen her daddy and Otis do to more animals than she could remember just then. Rick, Andrea and the others had done the real service- even Shane, unstable as he was, had a point that Beth seemed to identify with, as much as it shocked her. She knew that Daryl had shot her momma, but she couldn't help wondering who had put Shawn down.

She'd always been a _good girl_, went to school, to church, minded her parents, helped out around the farm. Never going to parties, or going further with a boy than kissing because she'd believe in the sanctity of marriage. It all seemed so ridiculous now. Those people that she'd held in such high regard, who she'd set her moral compass by, they were liars. Her daddy, Maggie- only her momma and Shawn remained untouched, and she had to believe that they at least would have told her the truth. About what was really going on, about what had been locked in the barn. Beth thought about how her momma must have known the truth before she got sick- no, before she _died_- but she couldn't handle being kept in the dark by everyone she'd loved. And her momma was dead- daddy had always told them never to speak ill of the dead.

How could he seem so unshaken in his faith, knowing the truth all of these months? The image of his calm face telling her not to worry about anything popped into her mind, along with a dozen others; daddy reading to her from his bible with its worn cover and slightly fraying pages; going out on 'runs' with Otis and Jimmy, collecting walkers to stash in the barn; speaking to her in that magnanimous voice, reminding her to say her prayers and thank God for all that she had been blessed with. Beth had to wonder if he had truly believed every piece of garbage came from his mouth, or if they had been bold faced lies as well.

The more she sat there, fists shaking and bile churning in her gut, the more the thoughts fanned the flames of her anger. Doubts and betrayal and rage were slamming into her very soul (did she even have one, or had that been a lie too?) and Beth couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle what was coursing through her, couldn't handle the thought of having to look into their faces and knowing that they didn't see her as more than a small, stupid child- only to be protected, never trusted.

_-D-_

In his tent removed from the rest of them, Daryl sat with his head low. The others hadn't noticed his absence yet and it hardly surprised him- he didn't belong there with them. He'd never really belonged anywhere.

No matter how hard he tried, Daryl couldn't shake the image of that little girl stumbling from the barn. His failure had slammed into him the very second he'd seen her, along with the familiar white hot rush of anger. She'd been there the entire time, dead, while he'd nearly killed himself trying to find her, spouting off at the mouth about stupid flowers and legends to the girl's mother. The one he'd had to hold back while she watched Rick put a bullet in her daughter's head.

He shook himself, sucking back all of that _emotion,_ and set to straightening his bed roll. Daryl felt bone-weary, nearly dead himself. He settled under his poncho for a few hours of shut-eye and couldn't have been out for more than a few minutes before someone was shaking him awake. When he saw Rick standing above him, Daryl's first thought was '_I didn't do it_,' before that ingrained reaction faded to irritation.

"_What_?"

"Can you come on out here? We need to- just come on. Please." Rick ducked out of the tent and Daryl thought about throwing one of his boots at the cop's head, but resisted. Wrapping himself in his poncho like a blanket, Daryl followed Rick out and found the Greene family, most of them, standing there, along with Rick and Lori. Really it was just the oldest girl and that boy, Jimmy, with the stupid hat. Hershel and the younger girl were no where to be seen.

"Whattya want?" It was hard for him not to fidget under so many sets of eyes.

The Greene girl, Maggie, he remembered, stepped forward, eyes that matched her surname blazing. "Beth's gone."

Beth was the young one. Blond, small, Jimmy's whatever. "And?"

The little boy, Jimmy, looked like he was on the very edges of a fraying temper but Rick spoke up before he could lose it. "From the looks of things she packed a bag and took off in the woods. We don't know when, or why, what with everything that- that happened, but-"

"Girl's gone, got it. What's it got to do with me?"

"You're one of us. A-" Lori began, but Daryl cut her off.

"Cut the shit. What do you want?"

"We need you to find her," Maggie said, coming even closer, grasping his bicep through the rough material of his poncho. Disbelieve tore through him- after what just happened, after he almost _died _looking for the last lost little girl, they would ask him to do this? "Please, Daryl." Maggie squeezed his arm in her desperation, but he just stared at her hand until she let go.

"Beth doesn't know how to fight," Jimmy said, putting an arm around Maggie's shoulders when she moved away from Daryl. "Or hunt. She's wandering around out there with just the knife I gave her-"

"Then she's probably dead already." The blunt statement from Daryl drew different reactions from all of them. Rick's tired face held a certain amount of agreement; Maggie's eyes filled with tears and she looked on the verge of breaking completely; Lori's expression was close to the same one her husband wore, only there was sadness etched in the lines of her face; and _Jimmy_, the kid with the stupid hat, was very close to losing his temper. Daryl could tell that the kid was worried about the girl, who Jimmy saw as someone he needed to protect- Jimmy saw her as helpless.

"I know I shouldn't ask, especially after Sophia-"

"Then don't," Daryl cut Rick off, and the man met his hard stare. Whatever Rick saw there had him nodding slowly. Rick put an arm around Lori and they began walking back to the house, Jimmy following after sending a hot glare at Daryl. Only Maggie stayed. She had her arms folded across her stomach, like she had an ache after eating too much.

"One of the walkers out there today was Beth's momma. Another was her brother Shawn." Maggie paused, choked on a small breath. "You gotta know that before today, Beth had never really seen one of 'em. Not up close anyway. We always kept her away from it. She was just so innocent. We didn't want to..." she trialed off, and Daryl thought that maybe she didn't know what she wanted for her sister now, except to have her back.

Daryl eyed the girl, bringing his poncho tighter around his bare torso. Maggie had always seemed bold and unapologetic to him. It gave a funny twinge of pity in his chest to see her like this. She may have said _Beth's momma, _but Daryl could hear the words underneath. It'd been Maggie's momma too, maybe not by blood, but Maggie had loved her just the same. The girl standing in front of him had seen her momma shot, by Daryl himself, he remembered, her step-brother too. Her daddy had run off while they were still dragging twice-dead walker bodies away, and her sister had too.

"We shoulda trained her, trusted her. But hindsight, you know?" When she looked at Daryl her green eyes were luminous with tears and pity began to turn to planning. He'd gotten to know these woods pretty well looking for Sophia, maybe he could find _this _girl and bring her back to what was left of her family. Then he shook himself, told himself to stick to his damn guns. This wasn't his problem.

"She's out there and it's starting to get dark. Beth doesn't know what it's like out there, how bad the world's gotten. Please, Daryl. Find my sister." Maggie's hands grasped her worn thin shirt, balled her fists in it. The sun was in fact setting just behind her, blue sky washing in pink and orange and Daryl knew his mind was already made up.

He bobbed his head, looking away from her. One of Daryl's big weaknesses was his inability to say _no _to a crying woman and damn it if it wasn't going to get him into trouble again. His bare feet curled in the dry grass and he nodded again.

"Alright, girl. Quit your carrying on. I'll go, but it'll have to be in the morning. Won't be able to track shit in the dark."

Maggie rushed toward him. Daryl barely suppressed a flinch and tried his damnedest to relax under her hug, but when she let go his muscles were still bunched with tension.

"_Thank you_," Maggie said fervently, hands still on his shoulders. "Is there anything you need to take with you? Anything I can get you? What can I do to help?"

Daryl felt himself blushing and he twitched his poncho higher, subtly removing her hands from him. "Some food, s'all. Stuff that won't turn quick. Don't imagine it'll take too long to find her, but," he shrugged. "Never know."

"I'll leave some outside your tent just before dawn."

He bobbed his head again and watched as she ran off, before ducking back inside his tent. Daryl could hear Merle's voice in his head, calling him a damn fool. He couldn't help but agree.


	2. Part One: Two

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead. No copyright infringement intended. **

**Author's Note: Thanks for the great reviews, favorites and alerts for chapter one! Follow me on tumblr, deadbeatpillowcases is my url over there. And on twitter, Missus_Monster. My best gal, lifelesslyndsey, has made a fantastic bit of art for Graveyard Train (the first piece of art that will develop with the story), and there's a link for that on my profile. **

**Drop me a line, shippers. **

**Graveyard Train**

_-B-_

She made it several miles through the woods before she ran across the first walker. The pack was heavy on her back, a tied up pup tent was awkward hanging from her shoulder and the knife was gripped with white-knuckle tightness in her hand. Beth froze when she spotted it and her heart began hammering in her chest when it picked up her living scent. The corpse shambled toward her and Beth remembered Shane yelling "_It has to be the brain!_" when she was within striking distance.

The knife sunk too easily into a hollow eye socket, scraped bone and pierced the brain. It felt like stabbing a sponge, and Beth dropped to her knees beside it and vomited on the leafy ground. Two sides of her mind were warring. The recently discovered, independent voice was telling here that she'd just saved her own life and killed a monster. Put what was once a living being out of its misery. The other side was the one that'd been hardwired to revere the sanctity of human life and creation, and was screaming that she'd just _killed a man_. It was something that would take time to overcome, she knew, but that didn't make it any easier.

Beth wiped the blade on her faded jeans and used the hem of her shirt to get the blood off her hand. Squinting up through the trees, Beth saw that the sun was setting. The woods were steadily getting darker and she'd been gone for hours. She knew they'd look for her and Beth hoped that she was deep enough in the woods that they wouldn't find her. Maybe she'd go back when the thought of speaking to them, looking at their lying, righteous faces didn't make her want to both cry and set something on fire.

She went on for another mile or so, at Beth's best estimation, ducking under branches, trying to move quietly, as the forest was taken over by shadows. It took a little while to find a piece of even ground between trees, but she made quick work of setting up her pup tent with the help of the flashlight Beth was holding between her teeth.

Not wanting to build a fire- and not even sure she could- just in case the light would attract more walkers, Beth sat just inside the tent, boots digging into the bone dry dirt. Her pack was between her knees and she pushed passed the neatly folded extra pair of jeans, a few loose cotton tops, under-things, to the food she'd packed at the bottom.

Jerky settled heavy in her stomach, along with a few dried apricots. Beth knew that she'd have to ration herself until she found another way of getting food. She didn't have any money, and didn't know what good it would do if she did. Maybe she could trade something? Beth didn't have much of value, other than the gold chain and pendant that hung around her neck, but those had been from her momma. That was a very last resort. She took a few sips of water, from one of the two large bottles she'd stuffed into the side pockets of her pack, then withdrew into the tent.

After making sure the zipper was pulled all of the way down, Beth settled into her sleeping bag. Laying there in the dark, every sound was a walker- every rustle was someone from the house. She fumbled around for the flashlight and clicked it on, folding it into her arms so that the white spot spilled onto the nylon of the tent wall behind her. Only a few minutes later, Beth was fast asleep.

_-D-_

When Daryl stepped out of his tent the next morning with a pack filled only with essentials and his crossbow, he found another packed bag waiting outside. He could get by for two weeks on what Maggie'd left for him, easy, and he didn't think it would take nearly that long to find the girl. At least, he hoped not. But like he said the night before, you never knew, especially in this world. He'd only packed one change of clothes and spare bolts- the rest was assorted weaponry and clean socks. If there was one thing Daryl believed in, it was clean socks. He may let his pants get so filthy they could probably stand and walk on their own when he was done with them, but clean feet was a whole different game. 

He set out just as the sky was turning orange, and something in Daryl's very soul relaxed when he was surrounded by nothing but the quiet of the trees. _This _was where he belonged, and he'd always known it. From that first time getting lost when he was twelve and after, when he found himself skipping school more and more to explore and learn the land he'd wandered. Daryl had always felt more at ease roaming Wolfpen Ridge and Blood Mountain, the two that were practically in his backyard back in old Union county, than the loud, harsh world. And he probably would have disappeared into those very mountains that he knew like the back of his hand when all of this shit started, if it hadn't been for Merle. There was no way he could just leave his brother to face this new world alone.

It didn't take him too long to pick up the girl's trail. At first it looked like the girl had all the grace of a fucking blind elephant, but the further he went in, the smaller her clear path became. Daryl could tell that she would be one to quickly adapt, and for the first time wondered why the Greene family kept her so sheltered. Sure, Daryl didn't have a problem picking out her direction, but a tracker any less honed than he was would have found it near impossible to stay with her.

Everywhere she'd taken a rest, or a piss, or for anything, he would stop too. Daryl was impressed with the distance she'd covered. He guessed it was damn near eight miles when he ran across a walker she must've put down. It was so rotted that it was hard to tell, but it looked like she'd taken it out quick, right through the eye socket. Daryl nudged the body with his boot, bit down on his thumbnail. The girl, _Beth_, she was good. _Instinctive_.

Daryl moved on.

_-B-_

When she woke up again it was to something clawing its way through her tent. Grimy, bony fingers with cracked and broken nails were steadily ripping a bigger and bigger hole through the nylon and Beth shot up, slow in her still sleep-addled mind. She scrambled for her knife, sending the flashlight flying and pushed herself back against the opposite wall of the tent. Hands there too, frantically trying to grab her through the tent and Beth screamed. Loud and raw, and she knew she had to get out or these things would tear her apart.

Heart pounding furiously somewhere in her throat, Beth tried to get her head straight. There was one in front of her, and one behind. The walker at the door had ripped a big enough hole that Beth could see its head, snarling and snapping, and she knew she'd have to take that one out first. The smooth wooden handle of her knife was heavy in her hand and Beth rushed the walker and kicked as hard as she could through the door of the tent.

It went down and Beth ripped the hole it'd started the rest of the way down and slid through it, striding passed the walker that was still trying to figure out how to get to its feet. When she rounded the tent, the other walker was still pushing against the nylon wall and Beth had to choke down bile as she rammed her knife through the crown of its head. The handle jerked out of her hand as the walker went down, and by that time the first was up again and coming for her. A flash of panic washed everything in gray and Beth shook herself hard. There wasn't time for that. She swallowed her yellow belly, put a boot to the twice-dead walkers face and pulled her blade free just in time to swing around and stab the still moving one in the face. Using her body weight, Beth pushed the walker to the ground and she followed it, bringing her blade down again and again, sending blood arcing, until the walker stopped twitching.

Beth felt the bile trying to push its way up again, but she shoved it back down. This was _life _now, and these weren't _men. _She sat up, knees still digging into the walkers gut, and she could feel the flesh giving underneath her. Blood was dripping down her face, and Beth wiped it away from her mouth with the hem of her shirt. She had no idea what would happen if she were to swallow the blood of the dead. Pushing up, Beth's knees pulled free of the walker with a sick, wet _schloop _sound and her jeans were covered in near black blood.

That didn't matter, though. She had to move. The tent would have to be left behind, and Beth could see how that'd been unwise. This time, it'd only been two- next time, it could be ten, and then she would be dead. She still wasn't completely clear on how she'd managed to take down _two_, except for the fact that she'd always been able to keep a mostly level head in emergency situation. Like when Bobby Fenway had fallen from the top of the slide when they'd been in fourth grade, Beth had been the only kid not running around screaming their head off. She'd calmly gotten a teacher, and poor Bobby had been rushed to the hospital with a broken collar bone and a shattered arm. That situation was worlds away from what she found herself in now, but Beth couldn't help but wonder where little Bobby Fenway was now- he'd moved away to Florida when they were in middle school. Beth thought that he was most likely dead now, and then automatically berated herself for thinking that way. _But why not? _She asked herself. _Everyone was dead now. _

Beth packed what little she'd gotten out, rolled her sleeping bag up and strapped it to her pack. She would just leave the tent. Maybe someone wandering through could use it. She ate a few more pieces of dried fruit, but it did little to ease the twisting of her stomach. Briefly she considered washing off with some of her water, but dashed the idea. She couldn't waste it. Surely she'd come across a stream or something in the next few days, she'd wash up then.

Slumping under the weight of her pack, Beth continued to head west, moving as quietly as she was able. Part of her wanted to turn around and go home. She was still tired, she was filthy, and hungry. Beth wanted a shower and her comfortable bed. But along with comforting thoughts of home, came the fear that she'd be shoved back into the dark. Kept away from the world, maybe under lock and key this time. If she went back now, she'd look like a stupid little girl who'd thrown a tantrum and run away from home. No, she couldn't. Going back to cooking and cleaning, smiling in the face of lies that _it would all be okay_, Beth thought that she just might kill herself. She hitched her pack higher on her shoulders, and kept moving.

All her life she'd lived on the farm and had never wandered this far into the forest. She'd had no idea that they were this _big_, and Beth liked it. Liked the quiet, the breathing room. And this area of the woods was completely silent, except for the crunch under her boots. No birds were singing, no squirrels were jumping from branch to branch. Normally the trees and brushes around her would be bursting with wildlife, but even that was gone this far in.

Beth walked all day, stopping every few hours to rest, take a sip of water, or eat sparingly from the supplies she'd packed. As the shadows began to grow around her again, Beth knew that she'd have to stop and find a way to sleep. Tomorrow she would be out of the trees, and she didn't know what she'd find then.

_-D-_

The further he went, the more Daryl began to admire this girl. She was obviously smart and he couldn't help but wonder, and not for the first time, why those people back at the farm felt the need to treat her as if she were some fragile china doll, the kind his momma used to collect before it all went up in flames. Beth could have been a valuable asset to them, keeping watch, planning. Maybe even looking for Sophia. Not that she could've helped find her, she'd already been dead by the time he'd taken that horse off into the woods.

But when he came across a ripped up pup tent and the two walkers bloody on the ground, Daryl nearly counted her for dead. Two walkers, maybe more before, in hand to hand, completely untrained? It was unlikely. She'd gotten these two, though, one of them barely had a face left and the other she'd gotten right through the top of its head. She knew to go for the brain, that was for sure, but Daryl had to remind himself that she'd been there at that barn the day before. No one could have missed the message Shane had been broadcasting. He was about to turn and head back for the farm, when he noticed that the _only_ thing that was left was the tent. Rick said that she'd packed a bag before she left, and it was no where to be seen. Daryl stuck his head into the tent, and sure enough it was completely empty. No bedding, nothing.

He looked around the perimeter of the small clearing and saw a few bent branches and knew that somehow, she'd made it. Beth was still heading west, like she had been since she stepped into the woods. Daryl could barely believe it, but he kept moving. Just as complete darkness fell and Daryl decided to find somewhere to get a few hours of shut eye, he spotted a tan pack hanging from a low branch, very gently swaying back and forth. He stopped, staring up at it, and then looked higher.

_Smart little girl_, he thought to himself. Because there she was. Beth had climbed up that damn tree and had tied herself around the hips and legs to a thick, sturdy branch. Her arms were crossed over her middle and the girl was fast asleep.

It was the very thing Daryl had been planning to do and he decided that here was as good a place as any. He climbed the tree next to the one Beth was snoring in, hung his own stuff from a branch and lashed himself to the tree with a length of rope that he'd packed. He'd be up when first light came and he'd drag the girl back to what was left of her family.

But when he came to a few hours later, she was already gone. He guessed that she woke up, saw him, and took off. Daryl called himself an idiot for not just dragging her back in the dark, and weak for the few hours of sleep he'd stolen. He could have easily pushed on for several days, but he'd been luxuriant in the fact that he was surrounded by a comfortable environment and that he'd been right on her trail.

By the time he followed her trail out of the forest, he came out only a few miles from the spot they'd lost Sophia on the highway. She was nowhere to be seen and must've had at least a couple hours of a head start. As he stood there, in the middle of the deserted highway, Daryl wondered what in the hell he was supposed to do now. Just go back? Tell the Greene family that he was sorry, but their damn fool little girl was gone for good? Unless she decided to go back, that was, because Daryl had no doubt that she was still alive.

Something inside of him was slipping. Lines blurred and he felt like he did sliding down that embankment- hard falling, jarring his bones on the way, and he knew that it would end in pain. Daryl didn't want to go back empty handed. He didn't give two shits about gratitude, or being called a damn hero- he wanted it for himself. He couldn't save Sophia, and that gnawed at his gut, but this one- _Beth_, she was still alive.

He'd been so sure that Sophia was alive, too, when she'd been locked in that barn, but he'd seen the evidence of Beth's resourcefulness. She could survive until he found her, took her back with him, at least that long. He remembered what Maggie had told him, that Beth didn't know how much the world had changed.

It wasn't the walkers getting her that worried him. It was what the world had devolved into that would eat her alive.


	3. Part One: Three

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead. No copyright infringement intended. **

**Author's Note: Again, thank you so much for the response to this story. In this chapter, Beth ponders about her religion and I'd like to say that these are her -the characters- thoughts/feelings, and do not reflect on my own personal beliefs, or am I trying to influence anyone else's personal beliefs. I mean no offense to anyone reading. Listened to a lot of Iron & Wine while writing this part, most prominently _"__The Devil Never Sleeps_" and _"S__odom, South Georgia__" _if anyone's interested. **

**Graveyard Train**

_-3-_

_-B-_

If she were still keeping tally of her sins, Beth would add theft to the steadily growing list. In strictly legal terms, grand theft auto. Beth wasn't sure if that still applied if the owner was nothing more than scraps of rotted flesh clinging to bones, though, so maybe it didn't count. She couldn't help the guilt that stole over her when she dragged the two corpses from the rusting hatchback, and left them on the side of the road. But exhaustion won out, and it was the only car that had both keys, and a little bit of fuel. Barely over a quarter tank, but it would still get her to somewhere she could either get gas, or ditch the car and find another way.

In any case, it saved her aching feet several miles, and ever since she'd gotten her permit at fifteen, then her license at sixteen, Beth had loved driving. Windows down, hair blowing, music coming soft from the speakers. Of course, the scenery had been a lot different then. Beth kept heading west, ultimately finding herself on i85, and that was just fine with her. There were random car jams here and there, but otherwise she had the all three lanes to herself.

Her heart was thumping in her chest, a shaky feeling radiating from her middle, as she looked through the glove compartment for music. Beth had never done _anything _like this before. She'd never even been this far away from Senoia by herself. It was a strange and funny thing, but the further she got from the farm the better and worse she felt. After those barn doors had opened, an icy hand had curled itself around her heart and that fist loosened bit by bit with every mile. While at the same time, she knew that life on the farm was safer. She'd heard Rick's group talk about herds of walkers and Beth knew that if she ran across one of those, she was history.

But she kept going. Beth didn't know what she was looking for. Maybe just civilization outside of her own little bubble on the farm. Or just a place to rest for a while. Find a little bit of peace. Her childhood home _looked_ tranquil enough, but was anything but peaceful now.

When i85 came across the exit for West Point, Beth took it. She'd only been driving for an hour or so, but she had to pee, she was hungry, she could smell herself and it wasn't nice. Beth was still covered in walker blood and she had sap in her hair from sleeping in that tree. The familiar feeling of panic wiggled in her stomach, and she thought of Daryl who had obviously caught up with her in the woods. Beth couldn't help but feel bad, just a little, when she'd sneaked away again, but she couldn't go back. And from what little she'd seen of Daryl, he would've just dragged her kicking and screaming all the way.

The rusted yellow hatchback ate up SR18 as Beth made her way to West Point, unsure what she would find when she arrived. She hadn't been off the farm since the sickness had spread worldwide. Her last memory of the outside world was leaving Whitewater High with Jimmy in his beat up red pickup. She'd been a senior, ahead of Jimmy and the rest of her age group, after skipping her junior year at the suggestion of their principal. Thinking of Jimmy brought on another harsh slap of guilt, but she'd meant what she said to Maggie. They'd only been together a few weeks when everything had happened, and just three months since. She wasn't married to the boy, and her feelings for him had begun to wane long before her naive bubble popped in front of that barn.

A sign that read _'Welcome to West Point_' flashed by and Beth slowed up on her speed as the town began to take shape in front of her. What was left of it anyway. Beth brought the car to a screeching halt, idling heavy in the middle of the street at the sight before her. Buildings were burned to shells. Bodies were in the street, as far as she could see, both the truly dead and walkers. The former were sprawled with innards eaten and spilling sticky black-red onto cracked pavement, while the latter roamed aimlessly.

Beth shut the car off and pocketed the keys, grabbed her gear from the back. SR18 ran right through West Point, bisecting the small town, eventually turning to 10th street. Here just on the outskirts there was a spattering of houses and a gas station. She thought that the gas station would be worth a look, but there were too many walkers, so she'd have to pass it and try to slip further into town, see what else she could find. Cutting through yards with her knife clenched in her hand, Beth's every nerve was buzzing with fear.

Eventually she came across what might be considered a business district with a few small shops that were flanked with still standing houses. What was once a Dollar General had been almost completely demolished, but a place called Givorn's Foods that was separated by an old junk shop seemed to be stable. A bell clanged over the door when Beth pushed it open, and she froze, eyes darting around for the walkers the sound would inevitably draw, but none emerged from the shadowy store.

The cashier was dead behind the counter but the rest of the store was mostly empty. For the first time, Beth realized that she truly had no idea how bad the outside world had gotten. She'd heard Rick's group talking, of course, but something inside of her had refused to believe the stories they told. The same part of her that had always been solid in her faith, and told her that the world would overcome. God would overcome. They were all his children, weren't they? And she'd always believed that God was about love, forgiveness and compassion. Her eyes strayed back to the young, bleach blonde girl with her throat ripped out and an exit wound for a face, Beth knew that there was no compassion anymore. She'd been wrong about the world, like so many other things. And thinking that God would save them all just because he'd put them on this festering world was just foolish, and Beth knew that now. Bitterness pierced her like a thorn and Beth swallowed thickly, continuing to walk the aisles.

A few cans of beef broth, another of peaches and a family pack of ramen noodles was all that she managed to find, and Beth rummaged through the store's small kitchenware section and grabbed a durable pan. She'd just have to teach herself how to build a fire in order to cook the ramen- Beth highly doubted that any of the homes here had a working gas stove, or a generator to power an electric one. She knelt on the floor, retying her pack, and that's when she heard it. The groaning and the shuffling and the moans of want.

It wasn't coming from inside the store, and slowly she looked up. Outlined through the frosted display windows of the store, at least a dozen walkers pressed against the glass. Beth's mouth went dry and her heart jumped into her throat- she was dead. They would eventually break through the glass, it was already beginning to crack under the combined weight of the walkers, and then they would have her. She might be able to take a few of them out, but that many? There was no way.

Beth could feel her self-control slipping. That level head she'd so prided herself on was evaporating like dew on a summer day. She tried formulating a plan but her mind skipped like the records her mama used to listen to with every crack and snarl. Stinging sweat broke out across a face that was ghostly white and Beth truly came to realize that she'd been a moron to think that she could do this. She couldn't survive on her own- she was weak, untrained and most of all too stupid to even formulate a complete thought when she really found herself in the thick of it.

Her limbs felt shaky and Beth gripped the canvas material of her pack in one hand where she was still kneeling on the floor. The rough fabric grated her skin, fingernails bent and broke against it and the sharp, small pain brought her back. Beth swallowed thickly and gripped her knife tighter, shouldering the pack as she stood slowly. No way was she just going to huddle there and give in, too scared to fight for herself. That was just as good and suicide and if there was one thing Beth knew in that moment, it was that she very much wanted to live.

The thick soles of her boots made a heavy sound on the hard tile as she took a few steps back, and a pane of the frosted sheet glass shattered completely. It rained down on the floor in a shower of shards and the walkers fell over each other and into the store. Already decomposing flesh was ripped to ribbons as the dead struggled to their feet against the broken glass. Beth gripped the shining wooden handle of her knife so hard that it hurt, and took a few more steps back. Her mind started to slip with fear again, but she forced it down and felt the gears catching. The back entrance to the store would have been her only route of escape, but when she'd made the rounds when she first came in, Beth had seen that it was chained and padlocked. Compliments of the owners, she was sure, after they found their cashier exsanguinated and put a bullet in her brain so she wouldn't rise and return the favor. Her only option was to try and take out as many as she could, and then try to slip out. If she could get around the group, she could easily out run them.

A hand grappled at her arm, Beth felt rancid breath against her skin. Jerking away, she swung her knife up in an arc, blade skewering the walkers eye socket. Beth kicked the dead man away, and then another was on her, and another. As quickly as she could, pushing down the dread and terror in her gut, she moved, but there were so _many_. Through the temple, and she kicked another dead weight away, but strong hands grabbed at her legs and Beth went down.

They were everywhere- grabbing at her clothing, her hair, trying to find an expanse of flesh. Tears began to well and Beth couldn't breath, they swarmed like cockroaches as she kicked and shoved, trying her damnedest to keep from getting bitten or scratched. Briefly she wondered if this was a punishment for questioning her faith, for defying her father. But fear blinded any guilt, and when she screamed it was a primal sound.

"_Please help me! I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry!" _she broke of into a strangled sob and didn't know who exactly she was begging, but continued to fight even as tears obscured her vision.

As if someone had been listening, sunlight through the shattered window glinted off of wicked steel of a long blade and one by one, walkers fell headless.

_-D-_

On the highway, Daryl fought to get himself under control. So tracking her now wouldn't be as easy as it had been in the forest, that didn't mean that it was impossible. Muddy footprints and tire tracks could be just as telling as bent branches and scuffed earth. He just had to pull his shit together and stop being such a goddamned pussy. He needed to have his shit on _lock-down_. It was the only way that he'd find her.

Daryl knew that she could have up to a four hour head start. There was no saying how soon after he'd fallen asleep that she'd taken off. The really big question was whether she'd taken a car- if so she could've covered a lot of ground in that time-frame. He'd just have to walk to the blockade of cars down the highway, where they'd lost Sophia. They'd stayed there long enough that he would be able to tell if one of the cars was gone.

Briefly he wished that he knew more about the girl. Gotten more information from her sister, hell, even talked to Beth himself _before_. Before everything changed. Girl probably would have panicked if he'd tried to talk to her- he was dirty and mean, she was shining and kind. Still, it would have been useful if he knew _anything _about her. The innocent, naïve, helpless girl that'd been described to him hadn't made an appearance in the past thirty-some odd hours since he'd set out to find her.

He lost more time walking along the highway, but it paid off. On the far side of the blockade, two bodies were piled on the side of the road, and a small puddle of oil were an obviously old car had been fired up. He could see tire tracks over the grassy median, and he knew that she was still going west. What did she think she would find? He didn't imagine the straight-laced good girl had too many notions of escaping her home town when she became an adult before the world ended. The far-off impression he'd always gotten was more Suzy Q. Homemaker. But hell, he'd been wrong plenty of times before.

She had a car, so if Daryl had any hope of catching up with her, he needed one too. There weren't many cars here they hadn't siphoned for fuel- he just had to remember which ones. The minutes scratched at him as he wasted time searching, before finding a Ford with a busted up fender and the smell of piss in the backseat. It coughed and protested, lights glaring up at him from the dashboard about the ABS and traction systems, but it had fuel and Daryl had been under enough cars to know that it would make it. Dead cars slid off the road on either side when he put them in neutral and pushed them to make room to get the Ford out and by the time Daryl was done, she had another hour on him.

While the need to find her still burned in his chest, Daryl was getting pissed off. What in the hell did this little girl think she was doing? Daryl got that she was pissed off at her family, they'd lied to her and treated her like an idiot. But her life could've been a whole lot fucking worse, he was living proof of that. When he found her he had half a mind to _make _her realize what a little brat she was being. He wasn't sure how he'd do that, but he was mad enough to find a way.

Daryl swallowed all of that back and focused on the task at hand. What he had to do was put himself in her place. What the hell did he know about being a teenaged girl? _Nothing_ that was what. But he was familiar with desperation and she had to be getting close to that state- she'd been on the run for just over forty-eight hours, after all. Beth had led such a comfortable life, she had to be hungry, tired and miserable. If his instincts were right, and they usually were, she'd go for something close. Beth had defied all of his expectations so far, but his gut was telling him that he was right on the money here. Daryl fished in his shirt pocket and pulled out a smoke. The cherry burned red as he took a deep drag and a silver curl was snatched and pulled through the cracked window.

If- _when_- he found the girl, Daryl thought that it might be just the time to pull away from the group. Slip away, head back up north, see how much was left of Suches and his place there. His one-bedroom deal hadn't looked, or been, much, so maybe it was still standing. Couple of squatters probably, but that was easily dealt with. Now that Merle was gone, maybe he'd just go up into the mountains like he'd planned on in the first place. Not like the group would miss him, not until their bellies were empty or someone went missing. They weren't his own, and they weren't his blood. He wouldn't even be behind the wheel of this POS Ford if it hadn't been for that older Greene girl and her damned quivering voice and the watery eyes that went along with it.

The Merle in his head called him a _damn liar_, but he tried to ignore it. Though as he'd been in life, Merle wasn't an easy one to ignore. Daryl knew that it wasn't just the Greene girl- either of them- that had him out here risking his neck again. It was Sophia and Carol, his own mama who'd been there one day and gone the next. She'd never really _been _there in the loving and supporting way; at least he always knew she was in the bedroom at the top of the stairs, chain smoking, drinking boxes of wine when his old man let her have the money for it. And more importantly, and recently, losing Merle. His big brother had been the closest thing Daryl had ever had to consistency growing up- the only one who ever gave a shit. He was there when he wasn't in juvie, and then later the army took him away before his dishonorable discharge. Coming back from that hunt at the quarry camp to this new face wearing a _badge _telling him that, basically, his brother was _gone_ was more physical than the fight that followed. Daryl _understood_ what the damn Greene family would go through if they didn't get that girl back. He admitted it to himself, and to himself only. Anyone else, whether living in his head or otherwise, could just go to hell.

_Suck it up_, he told himself. He needed to get his head back in the damn game. There wasn't time for self-realizations. Daryl had a new plan now- find the girl, drop her sulky little ass back with her daddy, sister and that Jimmy kid, then make his way back to north Georgia and his mountains.

A tired and hungry teenaged girl, running away from home and undead freaks, and she'd stick close to home. That was the summary he had in his mind. So he plowed down i85 and with a new goal in mind and the determination of the devil to make it happen.

_-D-B-_

**End Author's Note: I don't usually do these down here, but I wanted to say, I _know_. Still no Daryl/Beth face to face. And, honestly, probably not next chapter either. _However_ when it happens, it shall be glorious. Trust me. I know these things. Stick with it, and drop me a line. **


	4. Part One: Four

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead. No copyright infringement intended. **

**Author's Note: I've decided that this will be a story in parts. I'm not sure how many, and this doesn't affect what you've already read, just that one thru this chapter four is now marked as Part One: the Chase. Part Two will begin with the next chapter and will be called The Train Car. Really, it's just a matter of formatting and my need to be difficult. I'll get around to reformatting the first three chapters soon. **

**Part One: The Chase**

**Four**

_-B-_

The last walker fell and Beth stared at her savior. She took a deep breath- Beth had never seen a _person _who looked so dangerous. The woman was tall and lean, long hair that fell passed her shoulders and across her face. Wide, wild eyes stared right back at Beth from a face that was dripping in blood. Beth wanted to move out of the lake of dead blood that she was an inch deep in, but fear was on high alert. This woman still held her sword high and was looking at Beth with such caution that Beth thought she may just be skewered next. But with the next lithe movement the sword was sheathed and Beth released a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Her hands were saturated in blood as she pushed herself up. The woman gave her one last look before turning her back and strolling out of the store. In a second Beth was scrambling after her, tripping over still writhing walker bodies and snapping heads. Even an hour ago, she would have been so washed with guilt over leaving them like that, but in that moment Beth barely gave it a second thought.

"Hey! Wait!" Beth's footsteps were heavy on the sidewalk outside and the woman rounded on her.

"Will you _shut up_?" Her voice was low but powerful. "You'll bring every damn one of them down on us." She turned her back on Beth again, and the young girl felt her face flush under the gore.

"Sorry. I just wanted to thank you," Beth said to the woman's back, beginning to follow her again. "For, you know, saving me back there."

"Don't mention it." Beth could barely hear the words and the woman never stopped moving. She couldn't help but think that her sword looked heavy, but the woman showed no strain and moved quickly, around corners, through alleyways, navigating the streets with sure movements that came with familiarity. Beth struggled to keep up and her lungs burned, matching the woman's quick pace.

"What's your name?" Beth said on a gasp. She had one hand braced against her pack trying to quite the clanking of the cans.

Suddenly the woman stopped, giving Beth a side-long glance. "Don't you have a group you need to get back to?"

"Not one around here."

"How long do you plan on following me?"

Beth just shrugged. The woman gave her a shrewd look. "You can tag along for _one _night. Just to get yourself cleaned up and fed."

"Really?" That hadn't really been Beth's plan when she started following the woman who'd saved her life, but it sounded better by the second.

"I've always had a weakness for strays."

Beth wasn't sure whether she should be offended or not, but she didn't think it really mattered. "You never said your name."

"Michonne."

Michonne had temporarily bunkered down in a small one-story house on the outskirts of West Point. The white siding was grimy with dirt and age, and the inside wasn't much better. But there was a bathroom with running water, and Michonne had the place locked up so tight that walkers didn't have a chance of getting in.

"You can clean up in there," Michonne said, nodding toward the open bathroom door that was just off the kitchen. "I'll get food started."

"Thank you," sincerity rang in Beth's voice. "So much."

The other woman's lips pressed into a tight line and she jerked her head toward the door again. Beth set her pack down on the table next to a kerosene lamp and dug out a fresh change of clothes before shutting herself in the tiny bathroom. Beth's clothes fell in stiff piles onto the linoleum, and when she looked into the mirror, she almost wanted to cry. She'd never been a vain girl, but it was clear why Michonne had taken pity on her. Beth's hair wasn't even blonde anymore, instead dyed garish shades of red and clumped with dirt and sap. Not a single inch of skin that hadn't been covered by her clothes was clean, giving Beth the most macabre tan lines in history.

Beth waited a few moments for warm water that never came before stepping under the icy-cold spray, leaving filthy footprints on the white porcelain bathtub. Bottles of shampoo and bars of soap were on metal shelving hooked over the shower head, and Beth used what was left of a half-full bottle getting her hair clean. Soap suds were tinted red between her toes. When she finally shut the water off and stepped out, Beth wrapped herself in a threadbare yellow towel and sat heavily on the closed toilet. Cleanliness had suddenly brought a wave of exhaustion crashing over her, and Beth felt it all the way to her bones. She felt she could fall asleep sitting right there, but then she remembered the promise of food. It was obvious that she'd lost weight in the past few days, and her cut off jeans sat low on her hips. Beth left her filthy clothes in a small pile under the sink- there would be no saving them.

"Soup's on," Michonne said as Beth pulled the bathroom door closed. She had a quiet, low way of speaking that almost comforted Beth.

Beth pulled a chair up to the scarred oak table and Michonne slid her a can of beef stew she'd heated over the lamp and a can of peaches. Automatically the girl bowed her head to say grace only to find that she had nothing to say- it was a reflex movement. She was sitting at the table for supper and should thank God for the food he'd given her. Only he hadn't, and Beth wasn't feeling too grateful toward God anymore. Michonne was another story. Beth hungrily dug into the food- she'd been at the point of hunger where her stomach was grateful, instead of protesting to too much at once. Beth finished both cans, the peaches sweet as desert to her deprived tongue. It wasn't until she'd drained the heavy juice from the can that Beth realized how rude she was being.

"Are you from around here, or did you come... after?" Beth asked, throwing a glance at Michonne who was still eating bite by slow bite.

She shook her head, dreads sliding over her bare shoulders, answered on a swallow. "Waynesboro. By the SC border."

"How'd you wind up here?"

Michonne shot her a look that said she was quickly coming to the end of her patience. "Passing through. My... boyfriend's family was in Mississippi. Can't imagine they are anymore, though."

For an awkward moment, Beth didn't know what to say. Michonne had obviously lost a lot. "Well, lucky for me you decided to stop here, then," she said, trying to infuse brightness to the words. They fell flat.

_-D-_

The Ford ran out of gas, and he was riding a fucking moped. A _moped_. How had his life come to this? He was furious. It'd been the only thing around that wasn't a burnt out shell of metal, chained up to a bike rack at the high-school in LaGrange. This was all that damn girl's fault and when he found her he had half a mind to bend her over his knee and paddle her with her own damn shoe. Probably not, but the want was still there. He missed the dangerous growl and smooth ride of the Triumph, no matter how loud and impractical it was. At least he felt like he still possessed a pair of balls riding it. This godforsaken thing buzzed like a fucking mosquito and Daryl was going to set it on fire the very second he didn't need it anymore. Sure he could have just siphoned the gas from it, funneled the fuel into the Ford, but it only would have gotten him a few miles. The fucking _Vespa _could go much further on just a few gallons.

Honestly, he would have preferred to walk but he needed to cover ground and the sun looked like it was making up its mind to start setting. Daryl needed to find a place to settle in for the night. He wouldn't say that the walkers were straight out nocturnal, but they seemed to come out full force after night had fallen. Not that they were thread thin during the day but the last thing he wanted was to be caught out by a herd on a damn douche-mobile.

There was a subdivision on the outskirts of LaGrange, a dozen or so houses of the same design. The only difference was here and there the owners had opted for pale yellow or white siding instead of the sage green that seemed to be the norm. Yards were fenced in, front porches still held Fourth-of-July decorations. Cookie cutter suburbia. The type of people who would have been afraid of Daryl if they saw him walking down the street. Who would have taken their kid's hands and steered them to the other side of the street, giving him wary glances as if he were going to snatch them right up and eat them in a single swallow.

He'd always hated people who looked at him like he wasn't fit to clean their boots, but on another level, he envied them. Daryl imagined they had lived their childhood years in similar neighborhoods, with loving parents, excited Christmas mornings and acknowledged birthdays. _Now's not the time, man, _he told himself. It wasn't something to dwell on now. These people were probably long dead, and Daryl was going to break into one of their houses, and not feel a damn bit guilty about it. Was their own fault some of them were probably lying just inside their pretty painted doors, dead and rotting.

He kicked down the door of 27 Maple Grove Drive, splintered wood skittering across the tiled front entrance. The place was pristine, only the dust of neglect would let anyone know that the owners were long gone. There was no sickly sweet smell of rot, but Daryl still did a quick sweep of both floors. When he found nothing, he barricaded himself in a downstairs bedroom, wedging a kitchen chair under the handle of the door. The bedroom had belonged to the married couple that had lived here, and Daryl stood looking at the framed photos that lined the top of the dresser for several long moments. Wedding photos, tired faces of new parents still in the hospital with red, squalling babies. Pictures of those babies as they grew over the years; riding bikes, blowing out birthday candles, smiling at school programs. Daryl turned them all face down on the dresser, one by one, before moving into the attached bathroom to change his socks and wash up.

Biscuits and jerky that Maggie had sent settled like rocks in his stomach and Daryl lined his boots up by the bed. He stretched out on the comfortable mattress, folding his arms behind his head, but he knew that he wouldn't sleep. The place was pitch dark except for a candle he'd found in the bathroom. It was vanilla scented and the perfume was so thick that it almost made him dizzy as the flame flickered on the bedside table.

While he'd been washing up, he'd come to a decision about this wild goose chase he was on. If he found evidence of the girl in the next few days, in another town or any other sign she was alive, he'd keep on until he found her, dead or alive. But if he _didn't_, then he decided that it would be time to take his leave. Sneak back to the farm, take the Triumph in the night, and head home. He should have never left in the first place. What good did he wind up doing Merle after all? His fool of a brother had gotten himself killed, like Daryl knew he would always do, even before the world ended. His worries had been different back then- drugs, or a bar fight gone bad- but either way he'd known that it was coming. Ever since Merle came back from service with a different look in his eye, Daryl had just been waiting for the day his brother wouldn't come back. Even the Merle in his head was quiet now.

_-B-_

Michonne let her take the house's one bedroom, while the older woman camped out on a bedroll by the front door. Beth suspected that it was because Michonne didn't trust her, and Beth couldn't blame her. Her short-term companion had a certain hunted look about her that Beth didn't think she could ever identify with no matter who was after her, trying to bring her home. She knew that Daryl wasn't trying to catch her to hurt her, just take her back to her daddy and Maggie. And rationally Beth knew that she should go back. She was close enough to home that she could make it with what she'd found in that grocery store and she knew that they would be hard on her at first, but eventually they'd forgive, if not forget.

She stole a few hours of sleep curled under a handmade quilt, and woke gasping from nightmares of the living dead. Michonne was up and peering through the curtains in the living room when Beth emerged.

"Everything alright?"

"There's a guy out there on a... scooter." Beth could hear a bit of amusement in Michonne's voice. "Looks like he'd rather be anywhere but there."

"What's he look like?" Beth had a feeling she already knew, but- a scooter?

"White. Dark hair, kind of mean looking if you don't count the Vespa."

"Leather vest with wings on the back?"

Michonne turned to look at her slowly. "You know him?" Definite suspicion there.

Beth twisted her fingers in the hem of her tank-top nervously. Would Michonne hand her over? "He _might _be lookin' for me. From my old group."

"And you're hiding from them?"

Beth nodded. Michonne twitched the curtains apart again. "You don't want to go back?"

"I don't know."

Michonne sighed impatiently at her answer. "It's complicated, okay?" Beth added.

"What isn't these days? Alright," Michonne let the curtain drop, "Couple of options. We could kill him, get him off your tail. Or you can lay low here until he's gone."

"I think I'll just lay low." Beth's voice was calm, but internally her stomach was doing flips. Kill him? Daryl wasn't one of the dead, and as far as Beth could tell he was a good guy. She wasn't going to kill anyone still living. The couple of hours she'd spent with Michonne had put her at ease, but Beth was reminded just how dangerous the other woman was.

She could hear the tiny motor of the scooter buzz along outside as Daryl scanned the streets. Going home would be just as easy as stepping outside, but Beth held herself back. She could do this- she could make it on her own, and she was going to prove it, if not to anyone but herself.


	5. Part Two: One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead. No copyright infringement intended. **

**Author's Note: This most likely not be what you've been expecting, however it's how the story goes. Apologies for the wait, and thank you for the lovely comments, favorites and follows. Drop me a line. **

**Graveyard Train**

**Part Two: The Train-Car **

**One **

_-D-_

Daryl was enough of a man that he didn't think that being captured really reflected on that validity of the status. Even not being able to escape after what had to be close to a month didn't really make him question his badassness. There were always circumstances. And he thought getting his ass stomped by four big as hell guys and then starved for weeks were damn valid circumstances. To hell with anyone who said otherwise. All that really kept him alive was pure Dixon stubbornness and the imaginary Merle that'd always been Daryl's way of coping, going way back to when he was a kid and Merle left for his service.

These bastards had ambushed him only a few weeks after he'd given up his mule-headed search for the girl, Beth, after following her ass all the way to Louisiana. He'd made that deal with himself back in Georgia and he'd be damned if he didn't find evidence she was still alive and fighting in a high-end grocery store. But he also knew, just from the sheer amount of walker bodies, that she'd hooked up with someone else. Most of the months between then and the day he finally threw his hands up and yelled _'screw it, and screw you' _were spent following a barely there trail littered with rotten corpses and dead campfires, the occasional abandoned car. And for awhile, after he'd been captured and while his body was still throbbing and screaming in pain, he'd blamed her. And himself. Her for running in the first place and for being too goddamn stubborn to stop and come with him. Himself for agreeing to go after her and his own damn will that matched hers that kept him going on for so long.

Daryl was sure the group had abandoned the farm long ago, and maybe they were all dead now. It'd been just short of a year, by his best guess. There'd been a time of lucidness, sandwiched between the pain and then the hunger, and Daryl had spent most of it pissed off and thinking. About the group, about Merle. Beth and the stupid cat-and-mouse game that he was sure she didn't even realize she'd been playing that far in. His old man had always said that he had shit for brains and Daryl thought the past year had proved him right.

But there was no helping it. Daryl knew that he wouldn't last much longer. The only thing that cut through the delirium were the hunger pangs and the visits from the people holding him, offering Daryl his life if he'd only join them. He knew that Merle would have agreed, to keep himself alive, he would have postured and faked his way through it, but the things this group got up to- no way. Daryl would sooner die, and he told them so too. It looked like he was going to get his wish. The sores that had opened up under the chain around his ankle and the other around his wrist would never heal and the complete famish that filled every inch of his body wouldn't be sated in hell, where he knew he was going.

_-B-_

In the months since she'd left Georgia with Michonne, Beth had learned a lot. The dangerous woman who had turned into a sort of-friend had told her that she was worried about Beth making it on her own. Really, her words had been along the lines of, _"Going to get your ass killed if I let you stumble around on your own like Lou Ferrigno trying to dance the ballet.' _But Beth was able to translate Michonne-speak and took it to mean "_You're my friend, and I care about your safety._" So she'd learned to hunt, she'd learned to fight and most importantly, she'd learned to question_ everything. _Because sometimes, suspicion saved your ass. And just then, she was glad that particular lesson had stuck so well. If it hadn't, she'd been in a whole heap of trouble.

Beth and Michonne had stuck together for a few months, making their way to Mississippi and to the place where Michonne's dead boyfriend, Johnathan, had been raised. Instead of just finding an empty house, they found walkers and the dead body of Johnathan's little sister practically stripped to the bone. That night, after they'd bunkered down in an abandoned warehouse the next town over, Michonne had slipped away while Beth was sleeping. She waited a few weeks, living in the bathroom of that warehouse, thinking that her friend might change her mind and come back. After awhile, Beth had given up hope and struck out on her own.

Keeping with their trajectory, Beth found herself in Louisiana right around the end of Spring. She wasn't sure exactly how much time had past since she left the farm, but it was impossible to miss the passing of the seasons. Winter had been short but lonely and Beth had spent spent it moving around Mississippi. She'd been used to the extreme seasons of Georgia, so the temperate climate came as a surprise. But still, she didn't leave the state until sometime around March, she guessed, when the air had moved from brisk to warm.

This wasn't the first time that wariness had saved her ass, but maybe it was the most important. She'd been watching the group that had taken over Midway, Louisiana for a few weeks and it didn't take her long to feel justified hiding from the small hunting party she'd seen tromping through the weeks. Beth had almost approached them, just out of pure loneliness, but something deep inside her mind had held her back. She'd followed them to this little unincorporated town the group had taken as their own, and what she saw under the paper-thin veneer of civility made her skin crawl. The only reason she was still watching them was to make sure they didn't have plans to branch out as far as her own shelter several miles away. So far she hadn't heard of any plans for expansion, but on that particular mid-morning she heard something far more alarming.

"_-he ain't givin' in, man. What's the point of keepin' him? Just put a bullet through the redneck's fucking brain and be done with it." _

"_You forgetting what he was like when he watched him? Guy's a damn animal. He'd be invaluable." _

"_It's been weeks. If he was going to break he would have by now." _

"_Stop fucking questioning me. Now you're on watch tonight so if he's dead by morning, I know who's head to fucking bash in." _

They were holding someone, torturing someone and Beth couldn't just do nothing. In the months since she'd left her family's farm, Beth had done things that she wasn't proud of. This that sometimes had her waking in the night, gasping and crying. Leaving in the first place was something she'd come to regret a thousand times over. But no matter how hard this world had made her, how cautious and tired, she couldn't bring herself to just sit by while something like this was right in front of her face. Not if there was anything that she could do about it.

Beth waited around until dark, which was dangerous in itself, but she had little other choice. She spent the afternoon in a tree just inside the forest line, watching the building that the two men had disappeared into just after the overheard conversation. It looked like an old school, likely long out of use before the world had ended. Once the moon had the sky in its full control, Beth sneaked from her hiding place and into the heavily guarded camp. One of the most important things that she'd learned from Michonne was how to move inside the shadows. Always quick, quiet and alert. She slipped into the building, and searched until she found the man she'd seen earlier. He was sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair against a dingy wall, directly facing a closed door. A clear glass bottle was clutched in one hand and balanced on one thick muscled thigh, and he smelled so strongly that Beth didn't need to see a label. She knew the spice of whiskey. This man was either very foolish, or there was little to no worry of their prisoner escaping. Beth would bet her last few cans of fruit on both possibilities.

She pulled back around the corner and bit her lip, thinking. The hallway the drunk guard was in was wide open, with no way of sneaking up on him. And he was a large man, easily twice Beth's size. Alcohol would slow him down though, and Beth was fast. If she could surprise him, get behind him, she could knock him out with the ball bat she had strapped to her back. It was only a matter of doing it fast enough, without giving him time to raise alarm. In the end, the only noise the man made besides a confused grunt was a loud _smack _as he hit the hard green-tiled floor. The door knob was cold brass and turned easily in her hand. Cautiously, Beth eased into the room, but the smell immediately had her stepping back out, gasping for fresh air. The room stank of old blood and human waste, the poison smell of infected flesh. Whoever this person was may be beyond her help. Beth didn't relish the thought of having to put someone still breathing down, but if that's what it came to, she would.

_'no rest for the wicked'_

It was scrawled in white chalk across a broken blackboard. The words were messy, written with a shaking hand. Beth stared at the blackboard for a moment longer than she should have, before her attention was grabbed by a low groan.

On a dirty mattress in the corner of the old classroom lay a figure in clothes so filthy they were nearly unrecognizable. She could just barely make out a shirt with the sleeves ripped off and dark hair grown so long it brushed the collar. Her boots squeaked on the tile as she crept across the room, Arms that were once well-muscled had thinned, a clearly defined elbow jutting out sharply. A black tattoo curled out of the frayed arm of the shirt, under dirt and streaks of blood. Beth kneeled on the floor beside the figure. He flinched at the hand she gently put on his shoulder, and she couldn't hold back the small choked noise she made when she rolled him to his back.

_-D-_

He heard the door open, but the footfalls were too quiet. Too light. Someone else, then. Someone new. He felt like a sack of loose bones shifting around as he was rolled to his back. The only image he was able to register was white blonde hair falling out from under a cap.

Then he was being moved and it was worse than anything that had come before it. He was being dragged and all he knew for a long time was the crunch of leaves, the scrape of low branches and the pain.


	6. Part Two: Two

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Author's Note: I know I'm horrible at replying to reviews, but thank you to anyone who may be reading this story. It's coming along nicely. Drop me a line. **

**Part** **Two: The Train-Car**

**Two**

It took her hours to drag Daryl Dixon to the train car. They were the longest hours of Beth's eighteen years, and she couldn't bring herself to look back at him. Look to see if he was still breathing. Back in that room, there was a moment just after she'd rolled him over, recognized his face past the gaunt bones, where he'd looked right at her. She could have sworn that he did, but it wasn't a second later he'd passed out and didn't wake until they were inside the safety of the trees, which was admittedly a blessing. It'd taken her longer than she'd hoped to roll the meaty guard for the keys to Daryl's chains and his clothes. The guard didn't stir once, and Beth thought that maybe she'd hit him harder than she'd meant to.

The clothes she knotted together to transport Daryl- shirt, pants, jacket. It was less than ideal, but she hadn't exactly had the luxury of time. Getting him out of the encampment had been doubly difficult than sneaking in on her own, but she'd managed it.

When he woke in the woods, the groans of pain that came from behind her put Beth's teeth on edge, but she didn't stop to check him. She _couldn't_. The thought that maybe her rescue had been the thing to do him in and that he'd reanimated crossed her mind more than once, but she pushed it back. Beth went on, arms aching, the hardened skin of her hands rubbing raw against the pant leg she was using to pull him. She could feel blood dripping down her fingers, but there was no helping it. At least not until she got back.

The trip from the Midway encampment to her train-car took twice as long as it normally would have, but when the forest broke and she saw the moonlight gleaming off the tracks, Beth nearly wept with relief. Grass and dirt turned to gravel, she stopped and let the denim drop, breathing heavy. Beth rubbed her hands together, smearing the blood between her pale hands. It was near black in the darkness. Pushing her cap off her head, clutching it in one hand, her white blonde hair fell around her shoulders, and still Beth didn't turn around.

Daryl was silent on the ground now. Beth didn't know if she liked the change or not. Putting her cap back on without bothering to hide her hair, she sucked air through her nose. _Stop being such a pussy_, she told herself sternly. Gulping more air, Beth spun around and sunk down in the dirt next to Daryl. The jacket hood that she'd pulled up over his head was still in place, but most of her other makeshift stretcher had slid away. The dark blue sleeves were knotted but dragged low around his waist.

She pulled back the hood of the jacket and for a moment was sure that he was dead. Pressing one hand to the side of his neck, hovering the other over his mouth, relief flooded through her when she felt the weak pulse and shallow breaths. He was still alive. The urgency that had chased her through the woods was prickling at the back of her neck, and Beth knew that the group from Midway would know by now that he was gone. She needed to get him inside as quickly as possible.

_-D-_

It was softness that woke him. He was being laid down and covered to his shoulders and he was warm. The contrast was startling and for a brief moment the complete fog of pain and lethargy was lifted. He saw another flash of white blonde hair in the dark and then there was a tiny flare of flame that lit up her pale face.

He didn't have the energy to speak, but a firm _I'll be a son of a bitch _crossed his mind before the wave of black rose to claim him again.

_-B-_

Beth tried her best to count the weeks, and it was about eight before the night she found Daryl that she found her train-car. It'd been a long time since Michonne had left her, and even longer since she'd left home; she was tired. Worn down until it felt like she was made of some kind of polished stone, and she felt like she was beginning to crack. She'd been traveling on foot when she started following the railroad tracks and it wasn't too long before she came upon the derailed train.

Most of the cars were overturned, overgrown with creeping weeds. Some had crashed farther into the trees than the others, but there was only one that had landed upright. It was half-hidden by a felled oak. Bare, tangled, splintered branches covered the top of the metal and wood train-car like the spindly hand of a giant. At first, she'd only planned on spending a few days, just to rest her bones for a while, and then move on. But then a few days turned into a solid stretch of ten and Beth found herself planning a run for supplies.

Eight weeks, and Beth had made herself a tentative home. At one time, Beth would have been immeasurably guilty for pillaging the houses in the small parish towns that were relatively close by, but those days were long past. She found a feather stuffed mattress, a set of sheets, a few quilts in one, along with an old steamer trunk that she used to keep a few changes of clothing in. In another abandoned cellar, she found a portable camp stove that was out of fuel and a few shelves of jarred vegetables and jams. It wasn't the most comfortable home in the world, but she used butane to fire her camp stove, stockpiled whatever non-perishable food she could find. There was an opening at the top that she had to scale the outside of it to reach, but it let in fresh air and ventilated any fumes from the stove. She didn't clear anything from the outside and more than once it had hidden her from passing hunting parties, including the one from Midway.

She got Daryl into her bed and leaned back on her heels. The whole plan had been getting him here, but now that she had, Beth wasn't sure what to do next. Her first instinct was to scrub him down and shove food down his gullet, but she also knew that would do more harm than good. He'd obviously been starved for a while, but she really had no idea how long. Overloading his system at this point would be dangerous. He smelled of infection, so scrubbing him down would only irritate whatever wounds he had further. Beth could see clearly that the skin around his wrist was open and bleeding. She needed a plan, and fast. Beth had no idea how far out the group would go to look for their missing captive. Maybe as far as the railway, if the man she'd seen earlier was willing to go through so much trouble trying to break Daryl.

Beth shook off the wave of sympathy that crashed over her as she raked her eyes over the man laying under one of her quilts. This wasn't some stranger she came across on a run, a person she had no tie to and was able to push away. Beth knew this man. He'd lived on her family's farm with the rest of the group; he'd nearly killed himself trying to find a lost girl; he'd been the one to shoot Beth's rotting mother in the face; he'd looked for _Beth_.

She pushed herself away from the bed with a strangled sound. Daryl had looked for _her_. That was why he wasn't with his group. But _surely _he wouldn't still be looking for her after all of this time. That was just absurd. It'd been nearly a year, and for him to keep up a search that long... it bordered on obsession. There had to be some other reason he'd ended up in Louisiana of all places. But there was still the fact that he _wasn't _with his group. And that meant that they weren't at the farm. She had come to believe long ago that her family couldn't hold out in Senioa forever. Not after Beth had truly grasped what the world had become- eventually the farm would be over run, either by walkers or looters. She didn't think her daddy or Maggie, Jimmy or Patricia ever really understood what the outside world was like. If they had, there would be no way they could continue on in the blissful ignorance they'd been living in. At least not without being the masterful liars she'd convinced herself that they were when she first left.

_This isn't my fault_. Beth looked back to Daryl. _This can't be on me_. If she let herself believe for even a moment that _this _was the result of her running away, Beth didn't know what her mind would do. She already had enough guilt riding around on her shoulders.

The floor of the train car was metal so it was safe enough to use the camp stove inside. Beth fished a pan out of the milk-crate she had next to it and set about heating water to wash Daryl with. This would have been so much easier back in the days of hospitals and emergency rooms- or even when she'd had omnipotent Google at her fingertips. Now she had to go off of what she'd read in her daddy's books and what she remembered from high school heath classes. They hadn't dwelled too long on the topic of the human body's starvation mode, but Beth remembered plenty about the effects on animal bodies. More than once a starved animal had been brought to the Greene farm, and Beth had helped her daddy nurse the sick creatures back to heath. That knowledge would have to be good enough. Beth knew that she'd have to go on a run and it pained her that she'd have to leave Daryl all alone. But she didn't have many options and taking him with her was out of the question.

While she waited for the water to heat, Beth made a mental list of things she would need. More water, for one. Daryl would need a lot of liquids. Cans of broth, if she could find it. If not, she'd have to make do with beef or chicken bouillon. But even broth would be too much in the state he was in now. Beth remembered bottle feeding a kitten a mixture of glucose and water back on the farm. She'd been maybe ten when she'd found the pathetic little thing out behind her elementary school. Her momma had let her bring it home, and daddy showed her what to do to get it to a healthy state. While she doubted she'd be able to find the same kind of glucose, Beth was sure that corn syrup would be a suitable substitute. Daryl would need clothes to wear, something for his feet. What he had on was beyond salvageable and his feet were bare. She'd need to find antiseptic and bandages- Beth made a habit of keeping some on hand, but she had a feeling that she'd need more. She'd have a better idea of what she'd needed after she stripped and washed him.

The hinges on her steamer trunk squeaked loudly when she pushed the lid up, digging out the ragged pieces of cloth she used as rags. Beth tested the water and found it barely warm, which would have to do. She turned and faced the bed, watching the way Daryl's chest rose and fell, biting down on her lip. The best way to go about it, she thought, would be to just pick and end. Beth decided that it was just as easy to up as down, so when she pulled the quilt back, she went for Daryl's pants first. The durable, dark blue cotton was dried so stiff that they made a _cracking _sound as she worked them down. Beth wasn't at all surprised not to find anything under them. Daryl had always struck her as a strictly commando sort of guy, when she and Maggie would talk about the new men at their farm. She remembered that while she hadn't been particularly struck by any of them, Maggie had taken a sort of liking to Glenn, which had come as a surprise to Beth. Maggie's usual type actually ran more toward guys like Daryl then guys like Glenn.

Beth didn't even think about being embarrassed at Daryl's naked lower half- this was purely clinical. And while she'd never seen anything like that in real life, Daryl was too far gone to even bring a blush to her cheeks. She pulled the pan off the burner and started with his feet, gently scrubbing at his skin with one of the rags. By the time she'd reached where his ragged shirt ended and his hip bones stuck out, she had to throw out the water that was left in the pan and start a new batch. She piled his pants next to the trunk and tried to find something to put on him but came up with nothing. She'd just have to cover him with the quilt until she was able to go on her run.

After she pulled the brightly colored blanket over his lower half, Beth worked the shirt off of him. Daryl groaned, his face scrunching up and she rolled him to get the plaid material from underneath him, but settled quickly. The shirt joined his pants and Beth planned to burn them when she had more time to worry about it. When Beth was finished with his chest, back and arms, she had to take a few minutes to breath. Daryl's upper body could be read like a damn book.

Beth sunk back down onto the small rug by the bed and gently let her fingertips run over the faded, puckered scar that carved down his chest. The newer scars- like the one slicing through his right eyebrow, and another that ran the length of his inner right forearm- were easily distinguishable from these older ones. She hadn't paid much mind to the white lines that crisscrossed the backs of his legs, or even the pinkish one that puckered the skin on his left ass-cheek. But now, after seeing these, she pulled the quilt back and lifted one leg, and gently touched one of them. Beth knew that she was crossing a major personal space line, but it wasn't likely to get any better in the coming weeks, providing he made it that long, and she just couldn't hold herself back. It was clear to her now what these were, they matched the bigger ones on his back.

Belt marks. She didn't know who had given them to him, but he'd been much smaller. His body had grown, the skin stretching around them, and it tore at the soft spot that had managed to hang onto her heart. Beth swallowed around the lump in her throat, let out a small, hoarse sound. She couldn't afford to dwell. But it would be information to remember later, when he regained consciousness. She'd have to be careful with him. Drawing the quilt back up over his hips, Beth concentrated on the bruising that covered his abdomen. She brushed her palm over his ribs and could feel the uneven ridges, could even clearly see them. He had more than one busted rib and he was damn lucky that none of them had punctured his lungs or he would have been dead long before she found him. On her run she'd have to find something to bind his torso. And painkillers would be nice, even some out of date ibuprofen.

Beth pulled the quilt back up over his shoulders. She pushed Daryl's long hair away from his angular face, his cheeks even more hollow than before. Back at the farm, it had taken Beth a long time to notice the handsome face he had hidden under the dirt and attitude. Then his cheekbones had been alluring- now they were just gaunt and bruised. She got up to dump the water and grab a can of food from another milk-crate she kept on the other side of the butane stove. Beth returned to the bed and sat next to Daryl, digging into a can of cold stewed tomatoes with her only fork. As she at, she thought of the how much she contrasted with the man laying in her bed.

Before all of this, Beth's life had been quite charmed. She'd never used to think of it like that, but now it all seemed like a dream. Like a movie she watched once, not someone she used to be. Privileged, parents who loved her, good friends, a college fund. Beth tried to picture what Daryl would have been like a fifteen or sixteen and she couldn't. She tried to picture him at eighteen, the age she was now, and still couldn't. Beth thought that it was safe to assume that he didn't have a mother who would bring her pancakes in bed on every birthday, with little hats and a single candle lit in a stack of silver-dollars, even when she turned sixteen. Or a father who used to dress up as Santa Claus every Christmas when he'd put presents under the tree, just so she could see him when she would sneak out of bed even though she was supposed to be asleep.

Beth sighed and finished her tomatoes, washing out the now empty can and her fork. She grabbed another quilt from the trunk and changed into a pair of cotton shorts. The bed was big enough to fit both of them, and Beth carefully moved Daryl to the far side before wrapping him up tight in the quilt. Beth felt bad about tying him up, but it wasn't a risk she was willing to take There was every chance that he wouldn't last the night, so she pushed away the stab of guilt she felt and continued to tie strips of cloth around his ankles, legs and arms over the quilt. She extinguished the lantern she had lit and crawled into bed next to Daryl, and couldn't keep her eyes off of him in the darkness.

Before the walkers, she and Daryl had barely lived in the same world. Now that it had ended, everyone had been crushed down to the same level. There were no more classes. No more sheltered southern belles, or guys that her friends would have called poor white trash. There was only rot and decay and the struggle to hang onto the will to survive.


End file.
